www.TFCyberHaven.com

August 18, 2006

Prowl leaned forward over the console, scrutinizing the three dimensional computer generated model of his latest defensive strategy for defending the Ark against a possible Decepticon attack scenario. All the settings were correctly adjusted and all the Autobots were in their assigned positions, so he dimmed the overhead lights and tapped a few keys on the console, initiating the battle scenario on the computer. On one of the screens next to him, the computer scrolled through a lengthy listing of attack calculations based on the latest known Decepticon attack strategies and patterns.

The strategist watched with curiosity as the glowing translucent images of the Decepticons approached the holographic image of the Ark set into Mount St. Hilary. He set time delays into the model to conservatively approximate how long he figured it could take for the Autobot forces to assemble without notice into his defensive formation. The Seekers approached ahead of the flanking Decepticon forces, aiming to take out the Ark’s automatic defenses. Images of Cliffjumper, Brawn, Smokescreen and Jazz appeared near the entrance to the Ark on simulated guard duty and began to fire at the approaching jets. An image of himself, Prime and Ironhide emerged next, followed closely by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. 

He was pleased with the sequencing. As the Autobots began to move into formation the Seekers began to circle above the cone of the large volcano, locating themselves out of range of the Ark’s laser cannons. The jets worked together, concentrating their firepower, to knock out one of the laser cannons before being dissuaded by the fire from the grouping Autobot forces. Prowl frowned. He hadn’t expected the Seekers to act together intelligently like this when fired upon by several Autobots. Perhaps the computer was enacting this strategy because it assessed the emerging resistive forces to be too weak.

Bluestreak, Mirage and several of the minibots next appeared at the entrance to the Ark. Prowl was intrigued by this timing. The gunner definitely would have been better placed sooner in the scenario. He watched as the image of Bluestreak turned around to face the volcano, preparing to fire on the circling jets. Prowl knew the silver gunner was a good shot, but he also knew Bluestreak’s inhibitions and had programmed in a probability that the gunner would not attack. He squeezed his fist into a ball, waiting for the gunner to defend himself and the Ark. Precious time passed as the image of the gunner froze. One of the Seekers strafed the side of the mountain, targeting the motionless Autobot. Prowl sat back, disappointed. The model will need some work. Mirage and Hound appeared behind the gunner to defend him against an attack. Finally the image of Bluestreak let off one of his shoulder mounted missiles at the jets. The resulting explosion tore clean through the wing of one of them. As he let off his other shoulder mounted missile at another jet, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe moved in to finish off the first damaged jet as it fell out of the sky and transformed. 

A communicator screen flashed to life to the right of Prowl, distracting him from the remainder of the scenario playing out. The images of the Autobots and Decepticons continued their play of war, without his attention given to them.

It was Wheeljack. Prowl sat up straight, surprised to see the engineer’s image on the screen. It was not typical for Wheeljack to directly contact Prowl, and the strategist wondered what the purpose of the call was. “Yes, Wheeljack? What is it?”

“I need to see you in my workshop,” the engineer stated, the lamps on either side of his head flashing blue.

“Uh,” Prowl punted, suspicious of Wheeljack’s statement. “What’s going on?”

The engineer laughed. “Oh don’t worry. Nothing’s gone wrong, I just need to see you here.” 

Before Prowl could answer, the image of Wheeljack disappeared and the screen went dark. Prowl frowned. He stopped the computer model. Perplexed as to what the engineer wanted to see him about, the black and white strategist got up and left his office for Wheeljack’s workshop. He passed down the corridor and, as he approached the intersection to the adjacent corridor, a large familiar red and blue Autobot appeared, going in the same direction as he was. 

“Prowl,” the Autobot commander greeted, “Did Wheeljack just call you?”

“Yes. Do you know what this is all about?” Prowl was clearly displeased at being summoned without advance notice and without an adequate explanation of what he was needed for. Improper protocol was something that he would have to discuss with Wheeljack later.

“You know Wheeljack,” Prime suggested, half joking. “He’s probably got some new invention that will solve all of our problems.”

They passed Gears, who was walking in the opposite direction. The minibot happened to be within range to hear the exchange between Prowl and Optimus and lent his opinion. “Or he’s looking to blow himself up for good this time.” 

Prime and Prowl paused, turning as Gears passed them. The red and blue minibot was his typical grouchy old self. “Glad I’m not you,” he proclaimed as he continued down the main corridor, not even bothering to face them as he spoke. He made a large sweeping motion with his arms to indicate an explosion.

Prowl quizzically raised an optic ridge. “Do you know who else Wheeljack asked to come to his workshop?” 

“He wanted just you and me to see his invention,” the Autobot commander explained as they continued through the Ark. “He said it was something of strategic importance.”

“Hmm. Now I’m interested.”

The strategist and the Autobot commander approached Wheeljack’s workshop and the doors opened automatically. They paused for a brief moment before entering. It was always wise to ensure that the workshop was safe to enter, to make sure that some experiment had not gone wrong resulting in an explosion or some other chaos.

Wheeljack was seated behind a console, making an entry into a computer. “Glad you could make it,” the engineer greeted them and got up, “Come on in.”

Prowl followed Optimus Prime into the workshop. The black and white strategist looked around, unimpressed by the disarray of Wheeljack’s workshop. Half finished work and tools lay everywhere about the workshop. To him, Wheeljack’s projects appeared to be the work of a scatterbrained genius, one who didn’t have the discipline to finish something through from beginning to end without being distracted by another project. Prowl looked from his surroundings to Wheeljack. “So what’s this invention of great importance?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Wheeljack chimed, starting the sell of his device. He picked up what appeared to be a non-descript metal box, and held it in the palm of his outstretched hand. Pointing to it with his other hand, he looked seriously at Optimus.  “I call it the Spark Cell. It’s quite simple.” He handed it to Prowl, who looked surprised to receive it, and continued to explain. “I wanted to find some way to recover an Autobot’s spark should he be terminated in battle. The device basically detects vital systems functioning and will automatically download the Autobot’s spark into it if it detects that termination is occurring.”

Prowl and Optimus both looked intrigued. While they hadn’t known what kind of invention to expect, this sounded like something very unique indeed.

Prowl looked for a hole in the logic behind Wheeljack’s device. “So what’s the advantage if someone is damaged beyond repair?” Prowl inquired. “Won’t the device be damaged as well, possibly even destroying it?”

“It won’t get damaged because I’ve taken great care to shield it from the typical types of explosion, radiation, fire, and so on that you would expect to cause critical internal damage.” Wheeljack slowly paced in front of them, deep in thought for a moment, then stopped and turned to Prowl. “Prowl, let’s say one day you get blasted. The blast penetrates your energon regulator shielding and ruptures a main fuel line. I know it’s highly unlikely, but in that case, even a small amount of energon could become highly unstable very quickly, leading to an internal fire or explosion that could spread throughout your body and leave you as a burned out shell.”

“That’s quite graphic,” the strategist stated flatly. 

“Agreed,” Prime affirmed, surprised by Wheeljack’s description. “Wheeljack, what are you suggesting we do with this device of yours?”

“Quite simply, I think everyone ought to have one of these devices installed in them, to save them from being destroyed. I’ve already taken the liberty to have Ratchet install one in me. It’s a last chance device - the perfect way to prevent the Autobots from being exterminated.” Wheeljack paused and raised a finger for emphasis. “And the ‘Cons wouldn’t know to look for it after you fell.”

“Hmm,” Prime considered aloud as he cupped his battle mask in his hand. “Your invention has merit. But how are we to deal with your device afterwards?”

“The device would keep the spark in a state similar to stasis lock, like when we crashed here, before Teletraan-1 reactivated us,” Wheeljack continued. “The device has its own power source and therefore could last virtually indefinitely because the power draw is so low. All you have to do is to retrieve the device and download the spark into a new body. Simple. Oh, and I’ve configured it so that it will only match standard Autobot spark integration protocols.”

Prowl probed Wheeljack’s last statement. “What exactly are you saying?” 

“What I’m saying is that as long as you retrieve the Spark Cell, basically any Autobot can use it to transfer your spark to a new or even rebuilt body.”

Prime turned to his strategist. “Prowl, what do you make of this?”

Prowl inspected the simple-looking device. He turned it over in his hands, and noticed an indicator light on one face.  He held up the device towards Wheeljack. “What’s to stop this device from being triggered prematurely? If that were possible an Autobot could suddenly go off line. Or worse, if the Decepticons found some way to trigger the device remotely, it could disable us all at once.”

“I thought of that,” the engineer responded. “The device is also shielded against tampering signals. It requires additional feedback from your systems to verify an encrypted vital systems signal for it to operate. Once installed in a new body, it will automatically download your spark…of course, as soon as it detects a functional new Autobot body.”

“Good thinking Wheeljack,” Prime commended him.

“I’d hate to wake up as a Decepticon,” Prowl agreed, tilting his head to one side. But he was still not sold on Wheeljack’s invention, so he crossed his arms. “It would appear that your invention is a good idea, but I’m not convinced that we should use the Spark Cell without seeing the results of testing on it, first.”

Prime considered Prowl’s recommendation. “I agree,” the Autobot commander concurred. “We need to see proof that the device works as intended. All our lives would depend on it.”

Prowl nodded. 

Wheeljack sagged. Testing the Spark Cell was something that he had not done yet. “I’ll find some way to get you test results.” He sounded dejected as Prowl and Prime began to leave.  

Prime stopped in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “Wheeljack, it’s a good invention. We just don’t have enough information about how well it works yet.”

***

The sun glinted off the telephoto camera lens as it turned to follow the trajectory of a dust cloud speeding across the dry valley floor. The camera zoomed in on the dark head of the cloud, adjusting focus until the outline and details of the speeding object became clear. It was a black car following the same dirt tracks that led to Autobot headquarters.

A moment passed, and the camera zoomed in closer on a red object on one side of the back window. An Autobot symbol! The camera rotated slightly to view the front half of the vehicle. It was the familiar young human male that was known to associate with the Autobots. That last piece of information was confirmation enough.

The camera burst into three pieces, each piece transforming into a virtually identical robot. The Decepticon triplets came to rest behind the rock outcropping where they had just been collecting reconnaissance in camera mode, and began to consider the information gathered.

“This Autobot is not known to the Decepticons,” the three robots echoed in unison.

The triplet on the left turned to face the others as if to speak individually, however they all answered themselves in unison. “But I haven’t seen it transform. The evidence is circumstantial.”

The three Decepticons once again considered the evidence all at once. “The male human is frequently seen with the Autobots. They think the human helps to disguise them.”

“But I recognize the ruse,” the camera robots responded together. “I must alert Megatron.”

The center robot lifted his forearm to his chest, and a communicator window popped open. “Reflector to Megatron,” the triplets echoed together. An image of the Decepticon leader appeared in the arm communicator window.

“What have you learned, Reflector?” Megatron inquired coolly.

“A new Autobot has just appeared approaching Autobot headquarters.”

Deep under the surface of the Pacific Ocean, inside Decepticon headquarters, Megatron pondered the news from his master spy. Intelligence reports had not indicated that Prime was constructing another Autobot. In fact, there was no indication as to where this Autobot had come from. The Decepticon leader recalled how they had found Starscream’s old colleague, Skyfire, paralyzed in the Arctic ice, and revived him to join the Decepticon cause. Although Skyfire converted to the Autobots shortly thereafter, Reflector’s recent discovery gave Megatron an idea. He spoke to the image of Reflector on the screen in front of him. 

“Good work, Reflector. The Decepticons must make contact with this newcomer. Perhaps he does not know there is an alternative to the Autobots.” Megatron’s optics glowed ominously. “Reflector, Soundwave will send you the coordinates of a rendezvous point. We will meet you there in one megacycle.” The communication ended and Megatron nodded to Soundwave.

“As you command, Megatron,” the communicator droned in response.

Megatron opened a communication channel to the leader of the Stunticons. The image of Motormaster swayed slightly back and forth, disappeared to show the metallic wall of the Decepticon headquarters in the background, and then finally, a moment later, Motormaster came back into view again, steady and clear.

“What is going on?” demanded Megatron sternly.

“Uh, sorry, Megatron,” the Stunticon leader excused himself so as not to appear disrespectful to his leader. He tapped his forearm communicator with an index finger. “Um…technical difficulties.” He shot a menacing look across the table from him at Scrapper, with whom he had just lost an arm wrestling match because of the interruption. The green and purple Constructicon leader was gloating and proclaiming loudly the superiority of the Constructicons over the Stunticons to his fellow combiner team members.

“Motormaster, the Stunticons are needed for battle in one megacycle at the following coordinates.” Megatron ordered and Soundwave’s coordinates followed. “And tell Scrapper that I also want Devastator there.” 

Scrapper flinched as he heard Megatron mention his name, and the celebrating Constructicons fell silent. Obviously, the Decepticon leader could hear him through Motormaster’s communicator.

“As you command, Megatron,” the Stunticon boss quickly acknowledged.

Megatron closed the communication link with Motormaster. “I am eager to meet this newcomer and introduce him to the Decepticons.” Megatron’s maniacal laugh echoed through the hallways of Decepticon Headquarters.

***

The shape of the familiar volcano rose on the horizon against the cobalt sky. Spike pressed the gas pedal to the floor and shifted up into fifth gear as he glided down a slight hill, coming into the final straightaway leading to Autobot headquarters. It was a beautiful, warm spring day and college exams were finally over. The trials of another year at college and a bad relationship were behind him and he needed some time to kick back, unwind and get away from the ordinary world before starting his summer job. 

He glanced in his side and rear view mirrors, checking out the size and length of the dust plume trailing behind him as he followed the Autobot tire track road. The wind whipped in through the open windows, causing one of the top flaps of a cardboard box holding some food and cooking supplies in the back seat to slap up against its heaping contents. The perennial greenery was quickly returning to the valley floor, after a mild Pacific Northwest winter and a warmer than usual spring. He tore along the dirt road, sending up stones as he went. Conifers on both sides closed in until he finally disappeared into the evergreen forest surrounding the last rise before the entrance to the Ark.

Less daylight streamed through the reaching canopy overhead. The evergreens relentlessly swept by on both sides, disappearing into darkness in the distance. It was amazing to see the shafts of sunlight filtering through the trees like some kind of mystic illumination. The mystique of the setting also made it, he realized, the perfect place to be ambushed by Decepticons. He supposed that was why the Autobots talked about trying to avoid being drawn into battle in the heavily wooded area. Had the Ark been the base of the Decepticons instead of the Autobots the trees would have likely been all cut down or incinerated to increase defense, but the Autobots thankfully cared about the Earth’s environment and sought not to interfere with it more than absolutely necessary.

The giant rock face of the approaching mountain peeked through the trees here and there as the forest began to thin out again. Ahead of him, Spike could see the dirt road rounding its way up the final barren rock hill. Suddenly, the last few trees fell away and he emerged from the forest. The gigantic Ark stood before him, shining like brushed copper in the mid-afternoon Oregon sun. The spectacular size of the back end of the ancient Autobot spaceship standing proud of the side of Mount St. Hilary was always unreal to behold.  The image lent insight into the sheer magnitude of the tremendous impact that caused the ship to suffer such terrific damage and throw all the occupants into stasis lock nearly four million years ago. 

As he approached the Ark, he could see a familiar yellow and black figure waving his arm eagerly at him from one side of the entrance to Autobot headquarters. The sun glinted off the Autobot as he moved in the sunlight. A smile crept across Spike’s face and he relaxed back into his seat, glad to see his Cybertronian friend again and to be near the very end of his long drive. He slowed to minimize the dust, and rolled up to Bumblebee, shifting the car from third into first gear before braking and stepping on the clutch pedal.  

The minibot bent at his knees and craned to see Spike through the driver’s side window. A big smile spread across his faceplate and his optics glowed vibrant blue. “Hey Spike, good to see you,” Bumblebee enthusiastically greeted his human friend. The Autobot placed his large black palm up to the driver’s side window and Spike’s comparably tiny hand high-fived it.

“Good to see you too, Bumblebee. Been a long time, hasn’t it? What – about a year now?” Spike scratched his head. Holy cow, had that much time actually passed? “It’s just been crazy how busy I’ve been,” he explained, shaking his head apologetically.

“Tell me about it. Lately, I’ve been put on a lot more patrols around here. Like today.” Bumblebee shrugged. “Sorry I couldn’t get away to go pick you up – just got off duty.”

“Don’t worry about it. The drive was good for me after my last exam and I wanted to show you my new set of wheels anyway.” Spike tossed his hand back at his car. “So, what do you think?”

Bumblebee stood up and cocked his head to one side. “You, uh, didn’t choose one in yellow?” The Autobot tried his best to feign a concerned look.

Spike laughed at his friend. “They didn’t come in yellow.”

“That’s strange,” Bumblebee figured. “I thought humans could make cars any color they wanted.”

“It doesn’t quite work like that. They only made this Honda in a few colors.” He paused, realizing from Bumblebee’s expression he was only complicating the matter with information that would likely only lead to more questions. “On second thought, never mind. Sometimes they just decide they want to limit the number of colors available.”

“I still don’t get why,” Bumblebee shrugged, still mystified by the strange human ways of doing things, “but if you say so….” 

Spike took his right hand off the wheel and placed his arm behind the passenger side seat, stretching. “Anyway, take a look, tell me what you think,” he motioned with a flick of his head for Bumblebee to take a walk around to go see the other side.

Bumblebee circled the car. Spike was obviously proud of his new car. It was not an Autobot, but it was probably the best thing Spike could afford. He returned from behind the car to the driver’s side, smiling again. “Nice touch on the back,” he complimented, pointing with his thumb to the back of the car. You’ve got good taste.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Spike replied shyly with a slight wave to Bumblebee. “I saw a sign at a local auto detailing shop that said they could make a decal of any design, so I thought, hey, why not?” Spike recalled how the guy at the detailing shop thought the hand drawn Autobot symbol that Spike had brought in was some kind of street racing logo. Most people still didn’t pay much attention to the difference between the factions. The media did report that some of the robots protected humans, but mostly the news reports focused on the spectacular damage caused by the Decepticons as if all the public really wanted was to be titillated by the equivalent of a traffic accident.

“And I like the way you got your name on your license plate. It’s cute.”

“…Cute?” Spike winced.

“Uh, I mean cool.” The yellow minibot laughed self consciously. “Sorry about that. I meant cool. Hey! Do you think they could make one of those for me?”

“Your name would be too long. It has to be six letters or less.”

Bumblebee lowered his shoulders in disappointment and he mimicked a sighing sound. Sometimes the human ways of doing things seemed overly complicated and confusing. “Oh well.” He let the idea go since it was not really a big deal to him, and brightened up again, focusing back on the rest of the vehicle. “Nice looking car, Spike. I, uh, thought you said last time you couldn’t afford one of these, though.” He turned and raised his chin away as he spoke, looking at Spike suspiciously out of the corner of his optics.

“Relax, ‘Bee,” Spike rubbed his right eye with the palm of his hand to ease the strain on his tired eyes. The sunlight reflecting off the metallic Ark was starting to become too bright for him to bear after the long drive, and the interior of his car was also starting to heat up to an uncomfortable temperature now that he had stopped driving. “You know, I made some good money with the job Dad got me with the oil patch. A guy can pull in a lot of double time during the overhauls.”

“Double-time?” Bumblebee asked, not familiar with the term.

“Yeah - hey, let me park this and you can help me with my stuff.” He smiled politely at Bumblebee and eased off the clutch pedal, moving his right foot from the brake to the gas. He rolled back an inch and then moved slowly forward over the ten feet or so of dry rocky earth between the front of his car and the threshold of the Ark. The smooth metallic contour of the Ark felt comparably like gliding over glass as he drove inside, turned, and parked up against one side near the entrance, facing out of the base. Immediately in the cool shade inside the goliath ship, Spike sighed, and squeezed his eyes tightly together as he stretched his back through the shoulder blades, finishing with a big yawn. He shook his head to wake himself up. The day had been busy already. He had woken up early to pack enough stuff to stay with the Autobots for a couple of weeks, then took off to his last exam in the morning. Right after the exam, he grabbed the groceries from the fridge, stopped to picked up a sandwich and a pop and ate on the way out to meet Bumblebee. 

Spike flung the door wide open and stepped out of the car. He casually stretched again, turned around, and pushed the driver’s seat forward so that he could bring the box out of the back seat. He carried it over to Bumblebee, who bent over and easily picked it up as if it were feather-light. “Sure is nice to have someone like you around.” Spike smiled at his minibot companion and then popped the trunk to get the rest of his stuff.

“Do you think I could get a job as a bellboy?” Bumblebee joked. Spike pulled himself up out of the trunk, a sleeping bag under one arm, quizzically looking his friend over and then shook his head. They both laughed at the thought.

Spike set down the sleeping bag to retrieve another box, which he also handed to Bumblebee. Lastly, he grabbed his backpack from the trunk, slung it over his right shoulder then picked up the rolled up sleeping bag before closing the trunk with his free hand. He made a final check that he had everything before the two headed down the gently sloped, wide entranceway into the heart of the ship.

They followed the dusty tire tracks left by Autobots that had driven down into the Ark. At different points along the way the various tracks abruptly ended where the tracks’ owner had transformed and walked the rest of the way. Spike couldn’t tell which Autobots’ tracks he was looking at. I bet Hound would know. Bumblebee did not appear to take notice of the tracks. Instead, the minibot looked off into the distance, his thoughts elsewhere. The temperature dropped a couple of degrees as they walked further into the subterranean section of the broken ship. A slight breeze, brought on by the indoor-outdoor temperature difference, wafted them past them.

An engine echoed in the distance below them, growing steadily louder as it approached. A few moments later, Windcharger flew past them in vehicle mode, full throttle. He swerved to miss Bumblebee, who luckily was the one who was closer to the speeding car.

“Hey, watch it!” Bumblebee scolded him as he spun around as the other minibot ripped past him. “What’s wrong with walking around here? You could hit someone!”

“Sorry, ‘Bee – gotta go” Windcharger called out over his engine. He shifted up and sped off through the bright opening to the Autobot base, disappearing over the crest of the hill at the entrance. The roar of his engine faded quickly and the passageway fell quiet again.

“Gee, that was close,” Spike stated in a tone of disbelief with wide eyes. “He nearly creamed you.”

“Yeah, I wonder why he’s in such a hurry?” Bumblebee wondered, downplaying the near collision. “…must be late for something. Better stay close to the side in case anyone else comes flying through here.”

They passed by the doorway to the first of several large rooms where many important Autobot meetings and strategic planning took place. Prowl and Jazz were within view, congregating near Teletraan-1. They stopped their discussion when they saw Spike and Bumblebee through the doorway, passing by down the main corridor.

“Hey, Spike. Long time, no see.” Jazz quipped in his usual jovial tone. He slouched a little, looking cool, and placed his hands on his hip plates. “What’s up?”

“Hi Jazz, Prowl. Good to see you guys again.” Spike smiled and waved amiably. Prowl returned a slow, casual salute after a moment. “Just been busy with school,” Spike explained.

“Looks like you’re set to be here for a while,” Prowl commented, noticing the two boxes Bumblebee was carrying.

“Yeah, I don’t start my summer job for a couple of weeks. So I’ll be camping here for the next little while.”

“Well, take care not to get into any trouble.” the strategist stated without expression.

“Aw, he won’t get into trouble, Prowl,” Jazz said. Prowl was so serious that most of the time he just came across sounding uptight. Jazz smiled and practically purred. “Ol’ Spike’ll be just fine, what with all us Autobots around.” 

“Thanks, Jazz.” Spike acknowledged and he and Bumblebee continued on their way. Bumblebee smiled and nodded to the two black and white Autobots. Beaming, Jazz returned the gesture in like and Prowl nodded.

Once out of range, Spike leaned over and whispered to Bumblebee, “Does Prowl ever lighten up?”

Bumblebee tilted his head as he looked up, thinking about the question for a moment. “Occasionally,” he finally answered. “He usually doesn’t show it in a big way, though.”

Spike rolled his eyes. The tone of Prowl’s comment reminded him of a parental warning. He had moved away from home and had been living in a rental apartment for about a year now. He was glad to be out of his Dad’s house and finally on his own. While his Dad was not overbearing by any means, it just felt good to be in control of his own life and not have someone worrying about him. “I don’t know if I could live with someone like that.”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that sentiment.” Bumblebee was quick to respond. Spike looked up at him, anticipating an explanation. “It’s just that, well, not everyone likes Prowl – c’mon, you know that.” The minibot grinned knowingly.

Spike chuckled, thinking of comments about Prowl that he had heard over the years. “I guess so.” Although he had not paid too much attention to some of the interrelationships between the Autobots, it made sense. He knew Autobots like Bumblebee the best because they readily accepted human friendship. Some of the others liked to remain more distant and were more difficult to get to know. Prowl was one of them. He was not unfriendly, just unreadable. You never knew what he was feeling because he rarely showed it. Prowl did not socially connect well, either. 

Spike and Bumblebee greeted a few of the Autobots as they passed through the Ark. At last, they reached the spare Autobot quarters that Spike used as a guest room when he visited. Because the base was a long drive from civilization it made sense for him to stay for at least a few days at a time. The door slid open with a hiss and Bumblebee and Spike entered. It closed promptly after them. 

“It’s like I was here only yesterday,” Spike recalled with nostalgia, looking around the coppery orange room. The lights were already on before the door opened, which gave the room a welcoming atmosphere. That, combined with the sight of some of the stuff that he always left there, such as the energon-powered space heater, portable skillet and small fridge that Wheeljack had converted for his use, the human-sized table and chair, and some books, left him with the feeling that he had never really left. 

The room was huge by human standards. It was Autobot-sized, complete with an oversized bunk and a huge desk and console meant for recreational use by a large occupant. Some ad hoc stairs allowed him to climb up onto the bunk to sleep. He set down his backpack on the table and climbed up the stairs to drop his sleeping bag down on the metal bunk. His old pillow, dwarfed in size, still lay up there from his last visit. 

Bumblebee set down the two cardboard boxes he was carrying on the floor next to the table and sat down at the far end of the long bunk. Spike began rummaging through the boxes, pulling out specific items as he found them and setting them aside. As he got to the groceries, he started putting items in the fridge.

“Do you want any help?” the minibot asked.

“Nah, I’m not going to do everything right now anyway. I’m just looking for…” Spike answered, digging into the bottom corner of one of the boxes. “Aha! Ketchup.” He produced the bottle and furrowed his eyebrows as he looked hard at it, wondering how it managed to make it into the bottom corner, before proceeding to put it in the fridge. “I grabbed it after I packed the rest of the food. I knew that if I didn’t get it out right away once I got here, I’d probably forget about it.” 

Bumblebee changed the subject. “How’s Sparkplug doing?” he asked. The minibot leaned back against the wall and folded his arms behind his head in a relaxed pose.

“Oh, Dad’s fine,” Spike began then stopped to question his friend. “Wasn’t he here just a few weeks ago?”

“Might have been. I didn’t see him. Like I said, I’ve been on patrol duty more often around here.” The little yellow Autobot shrugged and added with sarcasm, “They must think I don’t have anything else to do.”

Spike snorted. He stood back, put his hands on his hips and surveyed the supplies he unpacked and those still remaining in the boxes and in his backpack. “Well, that’s enough for now. I’m beat.”

He wearily climbed up the stairs next to the bunk and laid down flat on his back beside the rolled up sleeping bag. He doubled the pillow over and tucked it under his head to prop himself up so that it was easier to see Bumblebee sitting beyond his feet. The bunk was cold and hard. It was certainly not meant to be comfortable for a human being, but it worked nonetheless. Spike just thought of it as camping on the ground.

Bumblebee turned his easy gaze from the top of the wall in front of him to focus on the small human figure stretched out beside of him. “So, how are things with Carly?”

Spike looked away, tired, at the wall to his left. “Oh, not so good,” he sighed. His expression became glum. “It didn’t work out.”

Bumblebee looked surprised. “What? I thought you two were a sure thing”?

“Apparently not,” he spat with a hint of bitterness. He left a long pause, hoping that the conversation would end there, but it became apparent to him from Bumblebee’s expression that his Autobot friend was waiting to hear more. He tried to simplify the situation for him. “Look…she’s an MIT type, and I…I’m just not that kind of guy. Besides, she’s a lot more outgoing than I am.” He crossed one foot over the other and slid a hand behind his head. He looked straight up at the ceiling to avoid direct eye contact with Bumblebee as he spoke. “Oh you know – or, uh maybe you don’t – it’s not like I should expect to marry and have kids with the first girl I ever go out with. I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

There was nothing that Bumblebee could think to say to console his human friend. Spike sounded sure that he really did not want to discuss the matter anymore so Bumblebee decided it was best to let Spike be for a while after his trip. He stood up to leave. 

“I’ll let you get some rest,” Bumblebee stated. “Let me know when you’re feeling up to getting out and doing something.”

“Okay, I’ll come find you.”

Spike closed his eyes and rested. The door hissed open and he heard the metallic clank of Bumblebee’s footsteps fade away after the door closed. His mind drifted into the state between waking and sleeping, and he relished the sense of falling as the stress of ordinary life dropped away.

Spike awoke to the sound of Teletraan-1’s familiar alarm resonating throughout the Ark. The thunderous clanking of Autobots’ metallic feet ran past his room and down the corridor. He did not know how much time had passed. He sat up suddenly, and checked to make sure that he was not dreaming. Were the Autobots under attack?

He scurried up off the bunk. As he approached the door, it opened automatically and he saw Trailbreaker hurrying along the corridor.

“Trailbreaker, what’s going on?” Spike pleaded.

The large, black Autobot stopped to answer Spike’s question. “Decepticon attack. Everyone’s been scrambled. You should stay here, it’s safer.” He then continued up the corridor and disappeared from sight.

Trailbreaker was one of the slowest Autobots and was likely one of the last few to leave the Ark for battle. Ignoring Trailbreaker’s advice, Spike left his room and made his way up the corridor to see if he could learn more about what was going on. He got to the battle room and found Prowl barking orders at Wheeljack, Ratchet and Bumblebee while Teletraan-1’s monitors repeatedly flashed alert status in the background. 

“Everyone else is on the field so I need someone to stay back and defend the base,” Prowl explained, controlling the placement of the Autobot forces. He directed his attention to Ratchet, who would have preferred to keep himself out of battle altogether. The medic needed to be functional and able to handle the wounded when they came in afterward. “Ratchet, you and Bumblebee are responsible for holding the entrance to the Ark. There will be a defensive perimeter nearby that should make your job easier.” Turning to Wheeljack, the strategist continued. “Wheeljack, you’re responsible for replenishing munitions as the troops run low on their subspaced caches.” 

Wheeljack acknowledged the order and hurried out of the room past Spike. “This is bad timing,” Prowl cursed, clenching his fists. “We really need the Protectobots and the Aerialbots here. We’ll have to rely on the Dinobots to be our strong hand.” The Aerialbots were participating in the air show at the Ramstein Air Base in Germany while the Protectobots were digging survivors out of a collapsed shopping mall in Shanghai.

Ratchet and Prowl departed from the battle room. Bumblebee remained when he saw Spike standing by the doorway. Just outside the room, the other two Autobots transformed and squealed their tires on the metal floor as they peeled away, leaving Spike and Bumblebee behind.

“Spike, just stay here,” the yellow minibot strongly advised as he tensed to transform.

“Wait a second!” Spike called out. “What’s going on? Why are we being attacked?” 

“I don’t know. No one seems to know what the Decepticons are up to. It’s just a surprise attack,” Bumblebee answered as quickly as he could, anxious to get to his assigned station. 

Spike quickly turned the information over in his mind, coming to a sudden realization. “Oh no!”

“What?!” Bumblebee demanded.

“I can’t leave my car up there to get blasted.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Prowl just said the entrance will be defended. Look, if you get me up there, I’ll drive back here and be safe and sound. No problem.” 

There was no time for arguing. The idea was against Bumblebee’s better judgment, but he transformed and opened his door to Spike. “Quick, get in.”

They tore along the main corridor and up the causeway to the entrance of the Ark. Bumblebee skidded to a halt and Spike jumped out. The yellow minibot transformed and looked around for Ratchet, but Ratchet was nowhere to be seen.

A large explosion suddenly shook the floor beneath them, nearly knocking both of them off their feet. A shower of small rocks rained down over the edge of the Ark. The battle was either very close or a large mortar fired from a distance had just erupted nearby. Either way, the blast was too close for comfort.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Bumblebee regretted. He pulled his gun out of its subspace compartment and gripped its handle tightly. Crouching low, Bumblebee cautiously approached the ship’s threshold to take a look around for Ratchet and the ‘Cons. He motioning for Spike to stay back. 

The air was filled with the sounds of battle: metal colliding on metal, gunfire and explosions, the roar of strafing jets and desperate verbal exchanges between the Autobots and Decepticons. As Bumblebee crept across the threshold and out into the open, the sounds became much louder and the battlefield fell into plain view before him. 

He scanned the Autobot defensive perimeter about a hundred yards below the entranceway, down the uneven, rocky slope to his left. The lay of the mountainside had been modified by the Autobots, as Prowl recommended long ago, to carve out defensive posts for just this purpose. There was a breach in the line where Huffer should have been. The minibot was lying on his back in an unnatural position about ten yards from his station. That was also where he found Ratchet, who was tending to the wounded Autobot. Given the choice between deserting his post and helping a fallen Autobot, the medic’s priority was clear. The red and white Autobot’s back faced Bumblebee as he worked. With Ratchet occupied, Bumblebee realized that he was, at least for the time being, on his own to hold the entrance to the Ark.

Suddenly, a deafening roar overpowered Bumblebee’s audio sensors and he cowered back under the protective shelter of the base. A blue F-15 fighter jet streaked down out of the sky above the Ark, firing a volley of incendiary bursts at the back side of the Autobot’s defensive chain. Trails of smoldering pock marks scarred the rock in front of the entranceway. The jet leveled out of a steep dive, kicked on its afterburners, and tore the air to ribbons as it vanished into the hazy distance.

Spike huddled on the ground, blocking his ears with his forearms.

“He’s coming back!” shrieked one of the Autobots. In the distance, the silhouette of the jet changed shape as it banked sharply for another pass. Rolling thunder reverberated off the distant landscape.  

“Hold your positions and sight up,” hollered Jazz. “Fire on my mark. Bluestreak! Are you with me?!”  

The sizzle of Thundercracker’s twin thrusters rent the air. The ominous blue shadow shifted its pitch, lining up for another strafing attack.

“Now!”

Bluestreak’s tracers flew wild of their target. A second later the Autobot defensive line opened fire. A brilliant streak of light arced skyward, bearing in on the Decepticon. Mirage! thought Bumblebee, as a vicious metallic crash echoed through the air. The full length of Thundercracker’s port engine was aflame, shredded by the armor-piercing rocket dart. Moments later, his starboard engine cut out with a booming cough. Silence filled the air as the F-15 stalled, then gracefully plummeted earthward.

The Autobots cheered. Trailing smoke, the jet fluttered before transforming mid-air. Thundercracker descended heavily toward Mirage below, optics glowing venomously and a sneer twisted across his faceplate.  He was poised to deliver a feet-first blow to the Autobot’s torso. The cheer ended abruptly as Thundercracker collided with Mirage and knocked the Autobot off line with an immense crash.

Bumblebee quickly turned to Spike, optics wide with urgency. “You gotta get out of here. It’s too dangerous.”

Slack-jawed, Spike nodded in agreement. He struggled to get up and fumbled through his pockets for his keys, dropping them nervously when he finally found them. 

Then there was an ominous metallic growl. 

“Ravage!” Bumblebee cried and squeezed off a shot at the robotic panther. The nimble cat dodged easily and dropped down from the rock outcropping at the corner of the entranceway. He growled aggressively as he circled Spike and Bumblebee, head lowered and knife-like canines bared. The graceful cat’s feet clinked softly against the metal floor as he stalked. Bumblebee fired two more shots, missing Ravage again as the agile cat hopped effortlessly out of the way. Ravage sized up Spike and slunk down close to the floor, jostling his shoulders as he prepared to pounce.

Spike realized he had no choice but to make a dash for the safety of his car. He exchanged a look of desperation with his worried friend, and Bumblebee understood that he had to take down Ravage with his next shot. As he lined up the shot, a blast seemingly from out of nowhere struck his gun, knocking it from his hands.

“Oh no you don’t,” a crazed voice chided. It was Frenzy. Ravage forgot his prey and sat up on his haunches, momentarily distracted. His weapon trained on Bumblebee, Frenzy hopped down the same path that the cat had taken, followed by Rumble, who had his pile drivers engaged. “Don’t do anything stupid and no one’ll get hurt.”

Spike’s eyes widened at the sight of Ravage’s two companions. He bolted for the car door and lifted the handle, but something sharp tore into his right calf muscle. He screamed as a vice-like grip squeezed down on his leg, dragging him to the ground. 

“Spike!” Bumblebee hollered as Ravage sunk his teeth into Spike’s leg.

Frenzy and Rumble looked at each other. Frenzy shrugged nonchalantly. “I told ‘em not to do anything stupid.” 

Spike felt himself start to sweat from the tremendous pain. He gripped his injured leg, feebly hoping to free it from Ravage’s grip. The cat growled lowly as Spike pushed against Ravage’s head. 

Bumblebee reached for his gun, but it bounced away as the first jarring pounds from Rumble’s pile drivers began to rhythmically beat the ground. Rumble increased the frequency of the beats until the seismic amplitude knocked the minibot off balance. Ravage spread his feet, lowering his body to steady himself as he kept a firm hold on Spike’s leg.

Frenzy trained his gun back on Bumblebee, who was now sprawled helplessly on the ground. Seeing that he had accomplished his objective, Rumble subspaced his pile drivers in exchange for his regular forearms and hands. He glanced at the black car sitting idle next to the wall then looked over at his companion, who wore a crazy, twisted smile on his faceplate. “I don’t get it. Why doesn’t he transform?” Rumble puzzled as he anticipated that any moment the black car with the Autobot symbol on the back window would emerge into its robot form. Rumble considered whether or not he should just go over and try to strike up a conversation with the still, black machine. Maybe Megatron was right about this newcomer. He certainly did not try to resist the Decepticons.

“Who cares,” Frenzy shrugged. “Just makes our job easier.” 

The two cassetticons glanced over at Ravage and suppressed a laugh as they watched the cat tease the minibot with his human captive. Ravage thrilled in stalking easy human prey whenever he got the chance, and had a knack for using his unusual catch to frustrate the Autobots. Spike had gone white and his face appeared clammy. Red flecks dotted the floor beneath him. 

Bumblebee remained frozen, Frenzy’s gun still trained on him. Rumble ribbed his black and red companion. “Why don’t you blast his head off and we can get on with things.”

Frenzy snickered, gloating. “In a minute, in a minute…Look at the expression on his faceplate! Ha!”

Bumblebee lowered his head, defeated and hopeless, unable to rescue Spike. When he feebly lifted his head a moment later, his optics widened with elation. Ratchet was stealthily closing on the unsuspecting Decepticons from behind. Gun trained at their backs, Ratchet winked to Bumblebee and then opened fire.

A well-placed shot blasted Frenzy in the shoulder joint of his weapon arm. Sparks erupted from the socket and the Decepticon looked down in dismay at his useless arm. Rumble whirled around to receive a blast to the chestplate. As Frenzy fled and Rumble crumpled to the floor, Ravage tensed to bolt.

From his hands and knees, Bumblebee leapt towards Ravage, trying to grab him. The yellow minibot landed flat on his chestplate, the panther’s tail slipping smoothly out of this hand as he took Spike with him in his jaws. Spike swore and contorted in the bone-breaking pain of the cat’s grip.

Growling with his head low, Ravage backed away from Bumblebee. Helpless, Spike let himself go limp in Ravage’s jaws. It seemed to minimize the pain, since the less he struggled, the less force Ravage used to clamp down on his leg. He had no other choice, unless Bumblebee could free him.

 “You gotta help Spike!” Bumblebee hollered at Ratchet.

Ratchet unleashed a volley of fire at Ravage’s feet, hoping that he could make the Decepticon drop Spike and flee. Ravage wrestled the human in his teeth in challenge. Spike groaned as the world faded in and out of focus. 

“Don’t shoot, you’ll hit Spike!” Bumblebee hollered again, realizing that it was too dangerous to fire at Ravage. Arms outstretched, the minibot desperately blocked Ratchet’s aim with his own body. 

Ravage seized on the opportunity to bolt from the entranceway of the Ark and down the mountainside, dragging and bumping his prey unkindly over the rocks as he went. Weary and in shock, Spike could no longer fight back. The growling Decepticon stopped fifty yards away and looked back triumphantly, enticing the two Autobots to chase him for the prize. 

“He’s taunting us!” Ratchet observed incredulously.

“What choice do we have?” Bumblebee pleaded.

Thrilled to see that the Autobots had taken the bait and were playing into his game, Ravage bounded away, unceremoniously dragging Spike with the yellow minibot and medic in pursuit. 

“Stop Ravage!” Ratchet yelled. Jazz spun around as the Decepticon cat leapt down through the break in the defenses left by Huffer. Spike’s body dragged limply, his arms trailing behind. He was unconscious. Ravage stopped to negotiate a better grip on his prey before bolting again. 

“Bluestreak!” Jazz ordered the silver gunner as he pointed at Ravage.

The sharpshooter swung his beam rifle around, clicked the setting over to narrow focus, and targeted the bounding Decepticon as he broke through the unsuspecting Autobot front line. With a single shot, Bluestreak expertly struck the cat’s hindquarters below his hip-mounted heat-seeking missile. Ravage reflexively kicked out his injured leg in response to the jolt.

“It’s not stopping him,” Jazz frowned. The black and white Autobot opened a channel with the Autobot commander on the front line. “Prime, we’ve got a situation here. Ravage has just dragged Spike into ‘Con territory. It doesn’t look good. We’ve got a heavy firefight on our hands up here. Cannot pursue, repeat, cannot pursue.”

“I read you Jazz. Hold your positions. We’ll take care of it.” Prime surveyed the landscape and spotted the cat and Spike. 

Ravage limped past Mixmaster and Bonecrusher. The two Constructicons closed the distance between them to protect the injured cat. Ravage reached Soundwave and dropped Spike at his feet the way a cat would drop a rodent. The tall blue Decepticon nudged the unresponsive body with the tip of his foot.

Ravage lay down with Spike just beyond his front paws and stretched out his injured hind leg to the side to inspect the damage.

Soundwave turned to Megatron, who was firing on the Autobots with his deadly arm-mounted fusion cannon. The Decepticon leader fell back from his position to receive Soundwave’s news.

“Report, Soundwave.”

“Distraction complete, Megatron” Soundwave began, the pitch of his metallic drone shifting lower as he spoke. “We wait for Rumble and Frenzy to retrieve the Autobot defector.”

“Good, Soundwave,” Megatron praised. “Now that we have the Autobots’ attention, it is time we show them how powerful the Decepticons really are.” An evil smile crept across his faceplate and he called to his troops. “Stunticons! Constructicons! Join to form Menasor and Devastator!” 

The four appendage Stunticons looked at each other in a moment of mutual contempt before combining to form the arms and legs of Menasor at Motormaster’s order. Scrapper commanded the other five Constructicons. “Constructicons, transform, phase one!” The six Decepticons immediately transformed into their construction vehicle modes and drove toward each other. “Transform, phase two!” Scrapper and Mixmaster configured themselves into Devastator’s legs, followed by Hook and Long Haul who formed up the body. Scavenger and Bonecrusher attached themselves to the torso to become the arms. The transformation completed as Devastator’s head rose from the shoulders of the Constructicon monstrosity. Devastator laughed deeply at the miniature Autobots before him.

“Uh-oh,” Ironhide said on the Autobot lines, “we’ve got trouble.”

“Double trouble – look!” Hound called out as he pointed at Menasor. The second giant approached from behind Devastator. “Prime, what do we do about two giants? We’re no match for both of them.”

Hound was right, Optimus Prime realized. They were no match for the two giant robots. Fortunately, the heavy barrage of Decepticon fire was significantly reduced with the appearance of Devastator and Menasor . They would be able to mobilize a counterattack in an attempt to capture ground and retrieve Spike.  The Autobot commander addressed the leader of the Dinobots across the battlefield, far to his left. “Grimlock! Attack Devastator!”

“Me, Grimlock, don’t need to be told what to do,” the Dinobot leader retorted arrogantly before commanding the other Dinobots. “Dinobots, transform!” 

Following Grimlock’s lead, Slag, Snarl and Sludge transformed into their dinosaur modes. Grimlock’s gravelly roar signaled the attack and, thundering loudly, he led the others into battle against Devastator, his crushing jaws lined with dagger-like teeth opened and ready for the onslaught. Slag lowered his three great silver horns and pawed the ground before breaking into a deadly charge against the giant. Snarl beat his tail on the ground as if it were a war drum as his golden spines glinted brilliantly in the sunlight, charging.  He then swung his back end heavily around to face the goliath and channeled the magnificent solar heat at Devastator through his tail spikes. The sizzling blast rippled through the surrounding air and exploded against Devastator with molten potential.

Swoop transformed into his pterodactyl form and took to the air, wheeling around the Constructicon giant’s head. He angled his chrome plated wings to direct the sun’s rays into Devastator’s optics, temporarily blinding him, while Swoop’s companions began to work Devastator off his feet with sheer brute force. Devastator angrily swept his arms through the air at the Dinobot nuisance. 

“Concentrate firepower on Menasor! Try to find a weak spot.” With every available Autobot directing the attack on the two Decepticon combiner teams, Prime turned his attention to the twins, who had managed to get a hold of Thundercracker after he had been tossed forward from the defensive perimeter. Sunstreaker, standing behind the blue Seeker, had one foot in the jet’s back, wrenching his arms severely behind him. Sideswipe held the Decepticon in a head lock and was beating several nice dents into his faceplate with his fist.

“Sunstreaker! Sideswipe! I need you to rescue Spike from behind Decepticon lines.”

Upon hearing Prime’s order, Sideswipe narrowed his optics and engaged the pile driver of his free arm, looking down at the defeated Seeker in his grip. “Let’s finish this.” Sunstreaker howled with glee at the sound of shattering optics as his brother drove the pile driver into Thundercracker’s faceplate. “Get out of here, slagger” Sideswipe hissed at the Decepticon and let go as the yellow warrior thrust the jet forward with a heave from his foot. 

Thundercracker thudded to the ground, face first. He raised his crippled body wearily and shook his head, blinded. Arms outstretched, he struck out using all other functioning sensors to find his way back to the other Decepticons.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe transformed and fearlessly raced across the battlefield toward the Decepticons. They wildly swerved the blasts aimed at them, enjoying the thrill of the challenge, and crossed enemy lines. Revving at top speed to gain as much momentum as possible, Sideswipe transformed at the last second and launched himself at Soundwave, taking the stunned Decepticon to the ground with a tremendous crash. Sunstreaker spun his tires, skidding to dodge Menasor’s foot, and raced crazily past several dumbfounded Decepticons before skidding to a sideways stop, several feet from Spike. He raised his passenger side gull-wing door. Sideswipe recovered himself and hurried toward his brother and Spike.  Ravage growled and limped away from the yellow Autobot.

“Such foolish bravery,” Megatron grinned and aimed at the red warrior, the closer of the two Autobots. 

“Sideswipe, lookout!” Sunstreaker yelled.

At that moment, a shot from a familiar ion blaster struck the Decepticon leader and Megatron’s arm cannon clanked to the ground. Sideswipe turned and looked in the direction of the blast to see Optimus Prime covering him. He saluted his leader then raced over to Spike. Soundwave started to pick himself up. 

Sideswipe looked down at Spike’s broken body. Where the lower part of the pant leg was shredded, his leg appeared red and broken. Spike was bruised and unconscious and his face was swollen. Sideswipe gingerly picked him up, laid him on Sunstreaker’s reclined seat and buckled him in. Poor Spike had seen enough action today.

“How is he?” the yellow warrior inquired.

“Not good.” Sideswipe replied flatly, looking at the red stains left on his hands. “He needs to get to a hospital, quickly.”

“Then let’s get out of here!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, shutting his door. Sideswipe transformed and the two brothers tore back across the battlefield under the protection of Optimus Prime’s cover fire.

Menasor was very close to the Autobot front line. Hearing them coming, he turned and aimed his foot to squash the Lamborghinis as they passed below his towering bulk. Sunstreaker revved his engine and peeled away. Sideswipe braked suddenly and swerved to avoid Menasor’s looming foot. He spun his tires, looking for purchase, but fishtailed as he hit some loose gravel. The huge foot pounded him, crushing and twisting his back end, busting his tires and shattering his tail lights.

“Sunny!” Sideswipe cried in desperation, unable to move or transform. 

Sunstreaker circled around and drew Menasor’s attention away from his crippled brother. He was unable to transform and help Sideswipe since Spike was unconscious inside of him. As he revved his engine for another pass around Menasor, Optimus Prime leapt into the fray. The Autobot leader reached down and grabbed the broken red warrior under one arm. Menasor lunged at Prime as he dashed toward safety, but the Stunticon giant was too slow.

“Thank Primus,” the yellow Lamborghini sighed and sped up the hillside toward Ratchet and Bumblebee, who waited helplessly to hear of Spike’s condition. Sunstreaker slowed carefully so as not to subject Spike to a significant decelerating force then opened his gull-wing door. 

“Ratchet, you need to get him to a hospital, quickly!”

Ratchet and Bumblebee jumped when they saw Spike laying unconscious in the Lamborghini. Ratchet was an expert unmatched in repairing Autobots, but he was unable to do anything to heal Spike. Spike needed a human doctor. Ratchet opened a communication line to Optimus Prime and urgently requested cover so that he could get Spike out of there and back to human civilization. 

The Autobot commander surveyed the action on the battlefield and looked back up the hillside at Ratchet in the distance. “Negative,” he answered reluctantly. “We don’t have enough forces to cover you all the way to the nearest city and defend our base. You’ll have to wait until we can force the Decepticons to retreat.” 

It was an answer that Bumblebee did not want to hear. He looked at Ratchet with panic. “What do we do?”

“You need to get him out of me,” Sunstreaker spoke. “He’s bleeding all over my leather interior.”

“Bumblebee, I’ll take Spike somewhere safe.” Ratchet said. The red and white Autobot stepped back, transformed into his ambulance form, and opened his rear door. At a loss for anything else to say or do, Bumblebee unbuckled Spike and carried his friend into the back of the ambulance. He set Spike down as carefully as he could then closed Ratchet’s door. Behind them, Sunstreaker’s tires crunched as the yellow warrior fishtailed in a sharp turn, churning up a spray of dirt and rocks, and raced back down the hill to his brother. 

“I’ll go with you.” Bumblebee announced as he started to transform, but Ratchet interjected.

“Bumblebee, one of us needs to stay here to guard the entranceway. I’ll call Wheeljack. He can help me with Spike.” Wheeljack had couriered one load of munitions to Jazz already and sped back into the Ark only moments before Sunstreaker had arrived.

Feeling small and helpless, Bumblebee watched as Ratchet drove down the causeway into the base, his emergency lights flickering red against the reflective, coppery walls. He was distressed that he had taken Spike into the path of danger, and worried that his fragile human friend might not survive his injuries.

Meanwhile, Frenzy stopped and looked back every hundred yards or so to check that Rumble was still behind him and that they were not being followed. His arm, with paralyzed fist still seizing the gun, swung heavily at his side. With only one gun and one good arm left the small Decepticon had to be sure he had backup in case he encountered any Autobot trouble on the way back to Soundwave. They had disappeared into the woods and were making their way back to the Decepticon front line.

“Stop lookin’ at me!” Rumble finally snapped. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Just keep runnin’.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” the other Decepticon fretted. “It’s that black Autobot. M-Maybe he’s comin’ after us.”

“Yeah?” Rumble considered. “Then you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, ‘cause he ain’t comin’ with us.” Rumble worried about what would happen to them when Megatron learned that they had been unsuccessful in bringing the Autobot back with them. He ran through possible excuses that they could use. 

Back deep inside the Ark, Ratchet pulled into the Autobot medical bay. Wheeljack, who had transferred the role of munitions courier to Cliffjumper, was waiting for him. Ratchet turned and backed up slowly toward Wheeljack, then lifted his rear door.

“Primus!” Wheeljack exclaimed, narrowing his optics in a squint, as he took a first look at Spike. “What happened?”

“It was Ravage. Bumblebee and Spike were ambushed at the front entrance.”

“What was he doing up there? And weren’t you supposed to be guarding the entranceway with Bumblebee?” Wheeljack asked his friend.

“I had to stabilize Huffer, who had taken a hit to his central energon storage chamber casing. I was only gone for a few minutes and when I came back Ravage, Rumble and Frenzy had shown up.”

“Why those little…” Wheeljack began to curse, but Ratchet interrupted.

“It was my fault. I should have been at my post. Huffer could have waited a little longer and this wouldn’t have happened.”

Wheeljack grunted an incomprehensible reply as he carefully lifted Spike out and set the limp body on one of the Autobot-sized repair tables. The overhead medical bay lights caused a swollen lump on the side of his head to stand out in sharp relief.

“That’s one nasty bump,” the engineer stated. Ratchet transformed and approached to take a better look. Wheeljack tenderly touched Spike’s head around the perimeter of the injured spot. The flesh did not spring back from his delicate touch. “That’s not good, is it?”

“’Jack,” Ratchet looked soberly at his friend. 

“You don’t need to say it,” Wheeljack interjected. “I know.”

There was a moment of silence between the two. Ratchet crossed one arm and leaned his face against his other fist. Neither knew how much longer the battle would continue outside, and they were stuck in the Ark until the situation changed. The nearest hospital where Spike could get help was perhaps two hours away. Neither knew whether Spike could last through the end of the battle and endure the long ride afterwards. Wheeljack crossed his arms and rubbed his mask, searching for an idea. Noticing a red trickle growing across the table from underneath Spike’s leg, Ratchet grabbed a greasy cloth and began to wipe it up.

Ratchet looked closely at Spike’s broken leg, not recognizing the structure of organic parts. He would have been able to make sense of it if it had been a busted robot leg. For the first time, the Autobot chief medical officer understood the helplessness that Autobots must have felt while they worried and waited for their injured friends. He wanted to offer some assistance, however trivial. “I could hook him up to my equipment to monitor his life signs.”

Wheeljack looked up at Ratchet from deep in thought. The engineer knew that monitoring his life signs would not help Spike, but it would not hurt him either, and it would help Ratchet feel like he was doing something. Wheeljack snapped his fingers. The sharp noise surprised Ratchet. “Yeah, do that,” said Wheeljack. “I’ll be back.”

Without an explanation, Wheeljack ran from the medical bay over to his workshop. Thank Primus I don’t throw things away. He jogged quickly from one area of the workshop to another, searching through piles of old machinery and parts gathering dust. 

“Aha!” He held up the equipment he was looking for and shook off the dust.  Wheeljack wound the loose wires around the fingers of the hand that held the bowl-shaped device under his arm, then jogged over to his workbench and picked up his tools and another of his prized pieces of equipment that he needed. He shook his head once with gusto at the delightful thought of being able to make the difference.

When Wheeljack returned to the medical bay, Ratchet had Spike connected up to a monitor. Ratchet was simplifying the display by removing the code for Autobot functions and adding a means of interpreting the basic human vital signs that he knew were important from watching TV on Teletraan-1. The chief medical officer glanced up and did a double take when he recognized the equipment that Wheeljack was carrying.

“You can’t be serious,” Ratchet said with disbelief.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Wheeljack retorted, adding, “They don’t call me the mad scientist around here for nothin’. An’ this is gonna work.”

The engineer placed each piece he was carrying, one by one, on the end of the repair table above Spike’s head. He pulled up a seat and quickly began to connect the pieces together.

Ratchet stopped what he was doing when he realized Wheeljack’s plan. “I don’t think that this is a good idea.” He hunched over, moving into Wheeljack’s field of vision as the engineer hovered over his equipment with single-minded intensity.

Wheeljack put down the tool in his hand and sat up straight. “We both know that Spike’s on borrowed time here. I think we should be ready to save him, our way, if we can’t get human medical attention in time.” Wheeljack picked up the mind transfer device that the Autobots had used to save Spike’s life once before and, carefully cradling Spike’s injured head in his large hand, slid the bowl-shaped device underneath. 

Ratchet stared at the monitor in front of him, ruminating. “Does Spike want this?” Ratchet looked over to meet Wheeljack’s gaze.

Wheeljack paused and looked down at Spike with a rare expression of sadness in his optics. “Between alive and dead, I think he’d choose to be alive. Look, I won’t do it unless he starts to shut down on his own.”

Ratchet weighed the alternatives. He was not sure that Spike would be happy about being a robot. He remembered the Autobot X incident all too clearly. Spike’s mind had been temporarily transferred to a robot body years ago. Perhaps Spike’s bad reaction was partly due to initial shock and partly due to the fact that Autobot X’s brain was put together by a human. Spike’s father, Sparkplug, was handy with a set of tools and some Autobot parts, but his attempt to build an entire Autobot, one that met Ratchet’s high standards, was beyond his abilities. Ratchet grimaced. He and Wheeljack were experts and could put together a body that worked well, one that did not look like it had just crawled out of the scrap heap. 

On the other hand, Ratchet would miss Spike if he was not around anymore. So would Bumblebee and many of the other Autobots. Sparkplug would not want him to die, either. Sparkplug had even supported the decision to use Autobot X for Spike’s first mind transfer. Ratchet narrowed his optics as he thought everything through. Of course, Sparkplug would be very surprised if Spike was saved without a vacant robot body for him to inhabit. The Spark Cell was a nearly miraculous alternative to death.

Ratchet nodded and returned to reprogramming the diagnostics equipment. Spike’s heart rate and brain functioning appeared on the screen, pulsing regularly. He did not have any way to meaningfully interpret Spike’s vitals. 

“Can you actually get the mind transfer device and the Spark Cell to work together?” Ratchet inquired out of the blue, still focused on the screen in front of him.

A moment passed while Wheeljack continued his work. “Sure. I just have to reconfigure them. Can you lend me a station and another monitor?” Wheeljack was confident of his ability. Chances were that the engineer had already considered the crazy idea and devised a mental scheme for how it could be made to work. Ratchet pointed to a console and monitor cluster sitting idle on the other side of the next repair table. Wheeljack brought the machine over and wired in the devices. 

The heart line on the screen in front of Ratchet began to jump erratically as the signal became irregular. He turned to check that the probes were attached properly and glanced back at the screen as he adjusted them. They were not the source of the problem, so Ratchet checked the connections into the equipment.

“Uh-oh,” Wheeljack’s lamps flashed blue out the corner of his optics. Ratchet looked back at the engineer, astonished. 

“What?”

“Ratchet, I think he’s dying.”

With wide optics Ratchet realized what should have been obvious. “Do something!” the chief medical officer pleaded. 

Wheeljack looked down at the sprawl of wires, tools and equipment in front of him. “I’m not done yet.”  

Ratchet wrung his hands and began to pace impatiently next to Wheeljack, guiltily cursing himself for leaving his post to tend to Huffer. 

Wheeljack struggled to complete the mind transfer circuit. Since it was designed to easily interface and receive a spark from standard Autobot circuitry, the Spark Cell portion was ready. He still needed to reconnect the mind transfer leads since he had removed two of the terminal blocks for another project. The tool bit he held in his hand snapped off just as he tried to insert it. 

“Fraggin’ Pit!” he cursed emphatically and immediately grabbed a new tool bit from the kit opened next to him. The next one slid easily into place.

Spike’s heart line wobbled aimlessly. Ratchet stopped and stared, dumbstruck. “Should we be performing CPR on him?”

Wheeljack tried not to let Ratchet’s question interrupt him. He had watched some TV shows with Ratchet and seen the procedure done before. “I’m not sure how well that’ll work with that head wound slowing him down. Besides, have you thought about how you’d give him the mouth-to-mouth part?”

Ratchet sank. Autobots did not breathe, so that idea was definitely out. For a panicked instant he considered looking around for some other way to create an artificial breath. He clenched his fist in frustration. He did not have anything, and he realized that he did not know how the chest massage was supposed to work, either. 

As he rested his elbows against the console, Ratchet slowly lowered his head against his fingertips, mouth agape. There was nothing he could do... nothing. Even if Prime called at that instant and told him that he could take Spike to the hospital, it was too late. All he could do was sit there and watch Spike die. Unbelievable. 

Several multicolored lights flashed in his peripheral vision. He raised his gaze to observe Spike’s failing vital signs. He watched every jagged heart tick: three, two, one... and then nothing. The flat line surprised him when it finally happened. 

“Wheeljack…”

Wheeljack glanced up and regarded the monitor. The area around Spike’s eyes had developed a darkened color since he had been laid down in the medical bay. His face was slack. Wheeljack looked over the completed mind transfer circuit before him and read the verification symbols on the screen. Now was the moment. He executed the initiation sequence to activate the circuit, but nothing happened. “It should work!” he protested.  

Ratchet slumped forward and pressed the chevron on his helmet into his hand. “Should it?” he mumbled dejectedly.

Wheeljack quickly surveyed the equipment layout then shook his head. Ratchet jumped as Wheeljack’s fist crashed loudly against the side of the machinery. The verification code blinked on Wheeljack’s monitor. For a moment everything was still. Then the air around the mind transfer helmet began to gently distort. Wheeljack stood up over his chair and leaned over to check that his optics were not deceiving him.

The orb of air surrounding Spike’s head developed an eerie iridescent glow as the bowl-shaped helmet slowly absorbed the diffuse human life force, focusing it into a spark as a mirror in a telescope focuses rays of light to a point. Ratchet watched in awe. Not that he doubted Wheeljack’s Spark Cell invention, but there it was, actually working. The indicator light on the Spark Cell began to blink intermittently as the spark was channeled into the device.

Wheeljack was transfixed by the machinery, excited to see his invention working. It was an unfortunate event that led to this moment, but everyone would stand to gain because of his Spark Cell. He was saving Spike. Maybe now Prime and Prowl would believe that the device worked. He scanned the readout on the monitor. “Almost finished...” 

Ratchet pivoted and observed Spike’s skin fading to a dull pallor as the Spark Cell completed its task. He did not look forward to explaining Spike’s condition to Sparkplug.

The distorted sphere around the mind control helmet subtly changed to a deeper hue. A beautiful pattern, similar to the shimmer of a soap bubble, emerged across its ethereal surface. Wheeljack looked down as the light on the Spark Cell stopped blinking and registered a steady glow, indicating that the process was complete. Stunned by his own genius, he kicked the chair out from underneath him, nearly tripping on it as one of its legs caught on his own. He balanced clumsily as if overcharged. “It works,” he muttered to himself, incredulous. “It works!” He swung his fist victoriously in the air.

The ethereal orb around the helmet diffused, leaving several sparkles of lavender light in its wake as the mind transfer circuit powered down. Spike’s body was exceedingly still.

“I guess we should tell Prime,” Ratchet conceded, leaning his elbow against the edge of the console, his chin in his palm. He wondered how they were going to break the news. 

Wheeljack raised his forearm before him and wasted no time opening a channel to Optimus Prime on the battlefield. The image of Prime emerged on Wheeljack’s forearm communicator.

“What is it, Wheeljack?” the Autobot leader requested, distracted by the fighting around him.

“Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.” 

“Give me the bad news.”

Wheeljack paused, realizing there was no good way to break the news to Optimus. “I’m in the medical bay, and, well…it’s Spike. He didn’t make it.”

Wheeljack had his whole attention now. “Oh no…” the Autobot leader responded softly. 

“But, it’s not all bad, Optimus,” Wheeljack interrupted the uncomfortable silence as Prime processed the information.

Prime had surprisingly little to say, which unnerved Wheeljack. Nevertheless, he kept his focus on the upside. “You should really see this for yourself.”

Prime closed off the channel with Wheeljack and gazed out at the battlefield, staring at the ragged images struggling and fighting all around him. He noticed two small figures emerge out of the trees behind Decepticon lines and disappear behind one of the clusters of rock shielding the enemy from Autobot fire.

“Tell him, maybe… the Autobot just fired at us,” Frenzy said as he turned and shrugged at Rumble. He slowed to wait for his companion to catch up. That explanation would at least explain their injuries and suggest that the Autobot did not want to join the Decepticons. 

“I ain’t telling Megatron that,” Rumble replied defiantly, reminded of Thundercracker sweeping low over the entrance to the Autobot base and the other Seekers strafing the front lines, “You never know who was watchin’ us up there. Besides, I got a better idea.” 

Frenzy stumbled as he emerged from the thick of trees with Rumble right on his heels. The two small Decepticons hurried over behind the rock shelter to Soundwave and Megatron.

Megatron looked displeased to say the least. “Rumble, Frenzy. Where is the Autobot you were supposed to bring back with you.” The Decepticon leader hovered over them. His voice growled, suggesting that they had better have a good answer.

Rumble stepped in front of Frenzy, pushing him aside. “We found the Autobot, but it just sat there and didn’t transform and fight or nothin’. Maybe it was some sort of decoy.” He stared up at his huge leader, anxiously waiting for Megatron’s reaction, and hoping not to receive the barrel of his arm cannon.

Megatron eyed the two suspiciously. “Are you sure?” he asked slyly. “I notice you two do not return entirely functional.”

Frenzy realized that he had better play into Rumble’s scheme if he wanted to remain functional. “Rumble’s right, Megatron,” he eagerly supported Rumble. “It must have been some sort of decoy.”

Megatron raised himself up again, glaring at the two small Decepticons out of corner of his optics, and not entirely believing Soundwave’s minions. “What do you have to say about this, Reflector?” Megatron called to his master spy. 

The triplets flinched. A potentially enraged Megatron was a more threatening foe than all the Autobots put together. “M-Megatron…” Reflector pleaded in unison, all three raising their hands defensively. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I saw the Autobot symbol.”

Starscream heard the exchange and could not help but interject his opinion. “Maybe your Autobot is just the boy’s car, Mighty Megatron.” The surly aerial commander shot the Decepticon leader a look of contempt.

Megatron scowled. “Starscream, you fool! Again, you prove you know nothing about leading the Decepticons. You wouldn’t recognize recruits if they were raining from the sky.”  He narrowed his optics and shot the unruly Decepticon a backward glance as he turned away.

Something was wrong with Rumble’s and Frenzy’s story. Megatron trusted Reflector’s surveillance more than the two cassetticon’s occasional incompetence. Megatron suspected that cowardice had more to do with why they had come back alone. Rumble and Frenzy probably did not even get close to the Autobot. He considered the options at hand.

Devastator was locked in a fierce stalemate with the Dinobots. Neither side was making ground. Grimlock’s jaws had pulled off Devastator’s arm by the crawler bucket.  Swoop lay pinned by a bent wing underneath the front end loader bucket of Devastator’s right foot, helplessly kicking his pterodactyl feet and flapping the end of his other wing. Snarl had transformed back into robot mode after losing several golden spines when Devastator had hurled him against the mountainside. Grimlock and Sludge lashed their tails at the legs of the giant in a dual attempt to knock Devastator off balance and rescue Swoop. The Constructicon giant was wasting precious energon. 

Menasor had fallen in disarray. After becoming overwhelmed by heavy Autobot fire, Dead End disengaged himself from Motormaster and toppled Menasor. Defeated, the other Stunticons transformed and ran for cover.

The Decepticon leader gazed angrily across the battlefield at his Autobot adversary, Optimus Prime. There was no further use in engaging the Autobots. Megatron would find another opportunity to contact the newcomer, perhaps in a neutral setting. He could wait.

“Decepticons!” Megatron shouted to his forces. “Retreat!”  

As Devastator bent over to pick up his dismembered arm, he looked over at Megatron, astonished. The towering giant begrudgingly obeyed and broke apart into his six constituent parts. Skywarp and Starscream retrieved Thundercracker and carried the injured Decepticon away with them into the sky. The Stunticons followed the other Decepticons, led by Megatron and Soundwave, in a full scale aerial retreat back to Decepticon headquarters.

“Next time, Prime,” the Decepticon leader scowled at his adversary as he departed.

“They’re retreating!” Prowl observed, surprised as he watched the Decepticons flee.

“Let them go!” Prime commanded everyone. “We have more serious matters to attend to.” 

Several Autobots hurled insults at the Decepticons and attempted shots at the backs of the retreating enemy, however the Decepticons gained distance quickly and were out of range to land a blow.

With the battle at a close, the Autobots collected their injured and wearily made their way back to the Ark. Prime transformed and carried Mirage and Sidewipe back into the base in his trailer, along with Sunstreaker, who refused to let his brother out of his sight for a second. Snarl gathered his broken spines in his hands and trudged back up the mountainside, along with Swoop who also transformed back into robot mode and nursed his broken wing. Jazz helped Huffer to steady himself as he stood up.

At the bottom of the Ark causeway, Hoist attached his tow line and lifted Sideswipe’s twisted back end up into the air then pulled him from Prime’s trailer into the medical bay. Grapple looked into Mirage’s dark optics and carried the limp Autobot under his knees and back. Prowl shadowed Prime, who transformed into robot mode and followed the injured Autobots to the medical bay. Wheeljack and Ratchet were waiting there.

Bumblebee was already there in medical bay, sick with sadness, as he hovered over one of the repair tables. Ratchet stood behind the minibot, patting him on the back and consoling him. Wheeljack had been unable to get a word in edgewise.

Optimus Prime came up silently behind the chief medical officer and the minibot and observed Spike’s lifeless body lying on the repair table. Prime’s joints slackened. “Spike…” The Autobots had failed to protect their human friend. “I’m so sorry.”

Prowl looked upon Spike’s body with shock. With stunned silence, Grapple laid Mirage down on the next repair table. Hoist backed Sideswipe in to an open section of the medical bay and unhitched himself from the Lamborghini. Leaking hydraulic fluid trailed Sideswipe from Prime’s trailer and began to slowly collect in a puddle underneath the Lamborghini’s broken back end.

Sunstreaker looked down at Spike’s body as he passed by the repair table toward the red warrior. “Ouch.”

Bumblebee spread his arms to steady himself against the repair table and lowered his head between his shoulders. 

Ratchet stepped back to let Prime in closer. The Autobot leader looked to Ratchet and Wheeljack for an explanation of the events.

“Prime,” Ratchet offered, lowering his head with guilt. “It was my fault. I was supposed to be with Bumblebee defending the entrance and I left my post to tend to Huffer.” Bumblebee raised his head and, mouth agape with grief, listened to the chief medical officer. “Ravage was able to get to Spike because I wasn’t there.”

“Ratchet, you can’t take all the blame,” Bumblebee interjected. “I wasn’t able to stop Rumble and Frenzy, either.”

“It was three on one, Bumblebee,” Ratchet argued in Bumblebee’s defense.

“All of us failed,” Optimus Prime whispered. The medical bay fell silent.

Wheeljack cleared his vocalizer. “Prime, I haven’t told you the good news yet.” He stepped forward and extended a hand to reveal the Spark Cell.

A red telltale light glowed on the device. Prime regarded the mind transfer helmet. Suddenly remembering it, he followed the wiring back to the equipment and monitoring station that Wheeljack had been seated when he entered the medical bay. The Autobot leader’s optics grew wide in amazement and disbelief.

“I used the mind transfer device to convert Spike’s awareness into a spark,” the engineer continued. Everyone turned to look at him with surprise. “Spike has a second chance.”

“What?” Bumblebee made a gasping sound with his vocalizer. He looked down at the body then straightened, hope returning to his optics.

Ratchet nodded to Bumblebee in agreement.

“I can build a new body for him…” Wheeljack explained to Optimus Prime. “…and download him into it, and he can have a new life.”

But Bumblebee recalled the mind transfer that Spike had gone through several years ago had caused him to go mad in a robot body. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Wheeljack faced Bumblebee solemnly. “We can take precautions, Bumblebee. But the way things stand, Spike has only one other alternative to this.”

The Autobot leader cupped his battle mask in one hand and lowered his optics, thinking. “Wheeljack, I’d like to talk to you…alone.”

“Sure.”

Prime acknowledged the chief medical officer. “Ratchet, take Spike’s body to the nearest hospital so that the humans can pay their respects. Prowl will accompany you. This must be dealt with now. I will contact Sparkplug myself.”

“Wheeljack, can you give me a hand?” Ratchet requested, then transformed and opened his rear door. 

Wheeljack slipped the mind transfer helmet out from underneath Spike’s head and carefully lifted his body. Spike’s body was very loose now and didn’t resist the forces applied to it. Wheeljack laid him down inside of Ratchet and strapped him in securely for the ride back to human civilization. As a last gesture, he turned Spike’s head to the side as if he were only resting. Stooped over with his hand on the top of Ratchet’s raised hatch door, he paused to silently say goodbye. Then he pressed the door firmly closed and stood up.

Prowl transformed into his police car mode and started his engine.

“I’m going with you, too.” Bumblebee piped in and transformed into his Volkswagen Bug form.

Prime took a step backward and allowed the three Autobots to leave.

Sunstreaker looked about the room, dismayed that the only doctor had just left. “What about Sides?”

“I’m sure Ratchet won’t be gone too long, and Hoist and Grapple can get started in the meantime,” Prime explained. “Wheeljack will be back soon and will also tend to the wounded.” The Autobot commander looked down at Wheeljack and motioned toward the door. Wheeljack led the way from the medical bay.

Once the bay doors closed behind them, Prime clasped his hands behind his back and slowly led them down a less traveled passageway for privacy. He narrowed his optic ridges, focusing with concern.

“Wheeljack,” he evenutally stopped and faced the engineer. “I’m concerned about your actions today. I’m worried that you didn’t have Spike’s best interests in mind.”

Wheeljack was shocked. &